Trickster, Traitor, Mischief-Maker
by Palleas
Summary: I would not deny many a maidservant in the All-Father's golden city have fallen for the charm of the trickster. A simple grin from the dangerously alluring prince would be enough to make a girl swoon (and many did more than that). But no, that is not to be my little tale. (Random narrative of a gardener)


Let me tell you a story about Loki.

Loki Odinson? Of Asgard, Jotunheim? Laufeyson?

Perhaps none of them, all at once.

The liar. Mischief-maker. Silvertongue. Prince. Trickster. Traitor.

These are titles I've only heard of.

But wait, not so fast.

My name is Naerys, and I myself have never had any titles to boast about for good or bad. I've only been known for my green thumb, and that seems to be all of it. Now, I can enhance my little qualities for my ego's sake, spend quite a while describing my oval face or brown skin, hair and eyes.

Instead I'll tell you this: I am no great beauty (Nor am I too much an eyesore, thank Heavens).

I am but a servant girl, as common as servants go in the Realm Eternal of Asgard.

Now, what would a servant be doing with a story pertaining to the infamous exiled prince? First thing to come to mind would be some tall tale about his shadowy exploits (whether it be of adventure or…_something else altogether_, would be up to you) or perhaps one of the many rumours surrounding his motives.

Second and perhaps most famously, would be a fairy-tale where the dashing cold prince falls for the common maidservant.

What a tale that would be. I would not deny many a maidservant in the All-Father's golden city have fallen for the charm of the trickster. A simple grin from the dangerously alluring prince would be enough to make a girl swoon (and many did more than that). Many girls and many ladies would love to see themselves in such a story. And many did try to stage such a tale.

They did well to an extent. But their romantic daydreams would be cut short once he got tired of them (that would usually be when they get from his bed to the door).

But no, that is not to be my little tale.

Goodness knows, Loki would never fall for a gardener's daughter, much less a _pure-blooded_ peasant.

I would call myself an observer. And to the extent, I could say I know a bit of his inner workings.

He has his eyes on golden things. Not literally, of course, that would be ridiculous. If I must say though, he lays gold pretty thick on his armour and paraphernalia. Loki has his sights on the shiny things, big or small.

His deeds would back that up.

My name is Naerys. I am but a servant girl: a gardener to be exact, in the almond orchards of the palace; a part of the royal gardens within the walls of King Odin's palace. I've never scrubbed the floors of the royal abode, nor kept any noble's chambers in order like most maidservants would, much to my great appreciation.

I kept to the almond orchard. I practically grew up there.

My father was a gardener, and his father before him. I watched them prune, grow and harvest the fruits of the almond trees ever since I was a little girl. Midgardian trees were not very hardy unlike the one of Asgard, though I took delight in helping my father light lanterns all about the wide orchard during winter to keep the almond fruits from dying before they were ripe. Apparently, the Queen had a liking for trees, and many Midgardian ones were brought to the realm eternal to her whim.

The Almond Orchard of the palace had been under the care of my family for three generations.

It was only logical I take up after my father's calling in the absence of a son.

I never complained. I loved the gardens. I belonged there, if anything. My browned features were nothing short of fit for work under the sun, not to mention fitting for my ward: almonds. Oval face, brown features? I was the almond girl among almond trees.

There were very rare occasions in which I saw the Queen, herself, walk among my father's trees.

The greatest honour for a gardener would be to present the fruits of their labour to the Queen. She's always loved the gardens.

And it was her love for the many blossoms and glades of her gardens that I came across…

The Trickster.

* * *

I was a wee lass.

A gardener's little girl would not be very fit to do much of the work in the almond orchard. I was too small to climb up the trees and cut excess blooms, and still too young to help in virtually anything. My only real purpose then was to help pick up the almonds during harvest season.

But for the rest of the year, I was left to my own devices.

So I had thought up to grow my own almonds, pocketing a few of the nuts from the previous harvest and digging up the soft earth at the edge of the orchard where my father wouldn't notice.

Like the many places in Asgard, the Queen's Gardens were tiered. One orchard after another like many layers in a multicolored cake. Some gardens were dedicated to flowers and blooms, but most were orchards just like ours, with their own gardeners to take care of them.

The far edge of the almond orchard fell steeply to give a view of the apple orchard below. Afraid of heights, I always avoided that place. So I went to the _other _edge_, _in contrast going _up_; a tall bricked up wall rose from the ground, a length of ornate golden fences stretching along its top with the most delicate of flowers peeping out. Flowering vines stretched down from the wall, creeping up and surrounding the brick edges of a small watering well at the bottom.

There was not a spot of grass in the orchard, nor would fallen leaves carpet it, we always made sure of that. It was for the benefit of the trees, but if anyone were to see the place, they would always assume the ground was just dry and bare. And in comparison to the peeping flowers and the golden fence of the garden right above us, I often wondered what people would think of it.

"…_Naerys, mah lassie, keep away fr'um the wall…"_ my father would always say.

I assumed it was always because of the well. I was so small I could easily fall in.

But, as it always goes, I went to the wall to plant my stolen almonds. I dug up a small bit of earth at the bottom of the wall and set the nuts in the soft dirt. The wind danced among the branches of trees, making the leaves rustle in the silence, sending dappled pools of sunlight on the bare ground.

Happy with my tilled bit of earth, I crept towards the well and lowered the pail, tugging at the rope tied to it to get water in the wooden container. The sounds of splashing water echoed down in the dark depths, shattering my reflection on the surface.

I could barely look over the well's edge so it came as no surprise when I could barely pull up the full pail. I tugged at the rope, securing my foot against the base of the well, careful not to crush any of the flowers.

"…_come on, ya stubborn git…"_ I cooed, wincing as I pulled as far as I could, yanking out a decent length of the rope from the well. I could hear water splashing down below, spilling from the pail.

Preoccupied, I barely heard the sound of voices from the upper garden and kept to my work. After a tug of war with the heavy pail, I managed to get it out, spilling a bit on my cotton dress. I caught my breath, splashing a bit of the cold water on my face in the prickling heat and dragged the pail over to my plot of dirt.

I was quite content sprinkling the well-water on my buried almonds. Surely, my father wouldn't find me amiss for hours. The sound of laughter resonated from the upper garden. Perhaps children were playing up there? Most likely. I've never been around the wall that much, so I didn't find it strange.

I fished my pockets for more almonds to plant, wondering how long it would be before the seedlings would pop out. After a while, with my work somehow concluded (though it wasn't as neat as my father's), I turned my attentions to the golden fence above.

There was the sound of voices again. I could barely make out whatever they were saying, but I was quite sure there were people up there. I kept glancing up at wall the as I kept digging into the earth lightly, keeping my hands preoccupied.

I even found myself wonder if I could somehow climb up the flowery vines to hoist myself up enough to peep into the fence. It sure is a lovely garden up there. So many roses and flowers I don't even know the names of. And the trees weren't plain green as the almonds I was so used to. They were red, they were yellow…always the color of autumn. I shrugged off the idea. The wall was at least twenty feet tall, I'd break my neck before I could see into the fence.

The voices faded off after a bit and it was only then that I realized it was already mid-afternoon. The sun was hovering over the west and would soon begin to dip over the horizon, casting shadows all over.

I never liked shadows.

So I got up, gathered the pail and trowel about to turn and leave when _pop._

"_OW!"_

I toppled back, dropping the pail and clutching the top of my head.

"_...that hurt," _I hissed, rubbing my scalp lightly as I squinted to see something shiny bouncing off into the line of almond trees.

"…_oi, you girl!" _

Bolting up, I dropped the trowel, looking about frantically. Have my father come looking for me? Oh, if he found out about the bit of earth I dug up…

"_Are you deaf? Up here!"_

Lifting my gaze back up to the wall and on the golden fence, I found a face among the flowers. A form peeping down just like the plants there, holding on the golden poles as he stuck his head out in between to see the almond orchard below. A boy.

"Did you throw tha' thing down?" I ask irritatedly, still frowning from the sting on my scalp.

"_Not on purpose!" _he called down to me.

He was an incredibly pale boy, from my vantage point, about a few years older than me (and a few inches taller). Fair-skinned, yes. But also paler than any person I've seen. I looked at him queerly from head to toe. His black hair was combed neatly, clothes dapper and dyed with finery. Expensive-looking, really. He even had vambraces on his wrists.

"…are yeh a high-born?" I asked curiously.

The lad blinked, then gave an unsure grin, "Don't you know who I am?"

"Should I?" I shrugged, gathering up the pail and setting it by the well.

"Well…yes," he said a matter-of-factly.

"Ah don't," I replied.

The boy looked down at me with a furrowed brow, "You talk weird."

"This is how ah was taught," I mumbled and took up my shovel, glancing up at him, "Aren' yeh goin' ter apologize?"

"Why should I?"

I scoffed in outrage (or irritation, depends on how one would see it on a small child), "_YOU _hit me with tha' thing yeh tossed down, _little lord."_

"That's why I'm talking to you," he replied with half-hooded eyes, losing temper, "Can you toss it back up?"

I looked to the trees, spotting something shiny along the bole of a trees.

"What's this, an'iways…?" I wondered as I walked to it.

"Just a toy."

"It's a ball," I mumbled, picking it up. As big as a large orange and impossibly round, I set down my trowel to turn the ball over in my hands. It was made of gold. But wait, it can't be…it was soft. Softer than my best pillow. But it did hurt a tad bit.

"Toss it up!" the boy called down.

I turned to him, "_This _is a toy?" I wondered, "…it's very pretty."

"And it's _mine!"_ he pointed out possessively, "Give it back!"

"…you really are a little lord, aren' yeh?"

"I'm a_ prince_!" he said with an amused and rather puzzled beam.

I stood there, dumbfounded, not sure what to say and only managed a reply after several moments.

"…yeh are?" I mumbled.

He must be lying. But then again, I never knew much about royalty except that the All-Mother loved the almonds we grew.

"Of course, I am!" he stomped his foot, "Will you just give it back!?"

I looked to him then to the sun lowering in the distance. I had to leave soon.

I walked up to the wall and flung the golden ball up with all the strength my small arm could muster. He held out both arms through to fence to catch it. But the ball barely reached up to half the wall's height, hitting the surface and bouncing back down.

"That was terrible!" the boy jeered with a laugh as I ran after the ball, "Come on, just fling it up higher!"

"I am!" I said and tossed it up, the golden toy sailing in a graceful arc in the air before hitting the wall again and ricocheting back to me.

"_Put your arm into it!" _he instructed.

"Will yeh stop complainin'…" I seethed and tossed it up again unsuccessfully.

"This is going to take a while…" he mumbled, tapping the golden bars of the fence with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, yeh do it then, if you're so clever," I clicked my tongue, "Why don' yeh jus' go do'own 'ere?"

"How would I go down there, I don't even know where the gate down is." He shrugged, then looked ot me oddly, "Do you?"

I scratched my head. Our cottage was right in the almond orchard. We barely go out of its confines, me especially.

"No…"

"Then get to tossing!"

I let out a breath and tried again, but the wall was always too high. I could barely throw to a good height but soon found out the ball bounced enough to fly higher than when I just tossed it. I ended up running to and fro along the wall, throwing the ball up and catching it again when it fell, the boy standing there, arms through the bars, trying to snatch the ball out of the air.

"…_stop running too quickly, it won't help." _ He snickered, watching me run back and forth.

"_I'm doin' mah best!"_

"_Just THROW it!"_

"_I am thro'owin' it!"_

But instead of getting irritated with the consecutive failed attempts, I was enjoying myself. As if I was actually playing. There were never children about the orchards, and playing alone wasn't as much fun. Not that the little prince actually was playing with me. He just sort of stood there, taunting my efforts a bit. Quite enjoying talking me down, really.

"…is that the best you got?" he chuckled.

Stopping to catch my breath, I leaned against the wall, sliding down to the ground, staring at the ball in my hands.

"Hey, come on, don't stop now, I need it back," he called down to me from the top.

"If yeh are a prince, why don't yeh jus' have another one made, eh?" I wondered, wiping the beads of sweat from my brow, "Yeh'd be rich enough to get at least a hundred o' these."

"Yes, but that one is _mine."_

Glancing up at him, I could see that his brows were furrowed. He looked stubborn, pursing his lips like that. Like a toddler denied a toy. Which was close enough, I suppose.

I let out a breath and got back to my feet, "Yeah, ah suppose yer righ'," I mumbled.

It's the same feeling with our orchard. There are a lot of other orchards and plots in the palace, but the almond orchard was ours. And we wouldn't trade it for the loveliest rose garden with the tallest golden fences.

"Arigh', 'nother try…" I sighed and tossed it up, jumping a bit as I did.

"_Up you get!" _ he chuckled as he held his hands out, slender little fingers rippling as if he was trying to wring something out of the air.

I stared at him in curiosity for a split second before turning back to the ball, wondering with what he was doing before the light of the sky blinded me and I had to squint my eyes .

For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of green as the ball flew past his grasping fingers. Odd.

"_What are yeh-?" _

The golden ball flitted up into the air as if it had been fire by a slingshot, shooting up straight overhead. It flew over the treetops, the wall and the tallest pole of the golden fence.

"Did yeh do tha'!?" I gasped, an amazed smiled making its way to my face as I edged backwards, shading my eyes with my hands, trying to see the ball that was but a shadows against the sky.

He didn't reply. For like me, he was staring up, as well. Wonderment frozen on his fair face.

"Oh! Careful no'ow, it's comin' back!" I shrieked.

He snapped out of his thoughts and stretched out his arms through the bars, catching the ball as it fell back to earth. Pulling it back through the fence, he stared at it in his hands for a moment as if it had just been given to him.

"Are yeh okay, little lord?" I asked, seeing the strange expression of discovery on his face.

He glanced to me, "Never better."

Perhaps I was expecting a word of thanks or simply just _another word_ to conclude my efforts for him that kept me hanging about even after he got his plaything back.

But he seemed a bit too preoccupied with his own thoughts that he quickly withdrew from the fence and ran off out of sight without another gesture. My smile faltered and I turned back to my small bit of earth, then back up the blooming garden overhead.

Nobles. Of course.

Alone, and rather embarrassed, I got my trowel and made my way back home before the dark fell that afternoon. I never asked my father who the boy was or he'd know I've been to the wall. But his little lessons for me about Asgard's noteworthy characters told me that the All-Father had two sons: Thor, gold of hair and the eldest though not by much, known for his constant misadventures in the palace. And Loki, the raven-haired younger child (who, according to rumour, was starting to dabble with magic).

I tried not to mind the little lord who claimed to be a prince afterwards and kept my head, as always: _to the ground._

I snuck out every afternoon to my 'secret garden', watching the almonds sprout from the brown earth I kept watered and tilled. Soon, the little lord was completely chased out of my thoughts.

Until, again, one afternoon, chance almost quite literally hit me in the head.

I was heaving along a pail of water from the well to my small patch when a stirring hit took me by surprise. It hurt even in the second time. The flash of gold bounced away as I staggered back, dropping the pail and ended up splashing the bottom of my dress.

"Oh, terribly sorry," came a non-so apologetic voice from above.

"You did tha' on purpose!" I screeched, looking up, hands turning into fists.

He was back up there, leaning against the golden fence among the flowers. That amused look plastered on his face.

"An' I suppose yeh want yer toy back, little lord?" I growled, kicking aside the pail and marching to where the ball zoomed off to.

What was I to do? Stepping a toe out of line would spell trouble. Especially when it concerned the social classes. Even a mere child understood that. There were nobles and there were peasants. The latter always bowed.

"This time I did it on purpose," he shrugged.

"Yeah? For wha'?" I huffed, weaving about the almond trees, looking for the expensive toy as I wrung out water from my skirts.

"To practice a trick."

I looked to him, "Are yeh him?"

"Who?"

"Tha' prince who tricks people."

"Oh, really?" he said in earnest, looking surprised he'd earned some sort of reputation.

"…but ah can't remember yer name," I smirked to myself, finding the ball nestled on a clump of flowering vines from the upper garden.

His smile fell and instead he glared at me, "But you have heard of me."

"Heh," I snorted, stooping down over the ball, "Yeh said yeh were goin' ter play a trick, eh?"

"Yes." He said simply, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yeh really shouldn' warn people, then,"

I reached down to take the ball, about to make some sort of snark to him that I wouldn't hand it over if he did play a trick on me. But my hand just sort of…_went through._

I gasped, trying to snatch the ball up again only to have the same happen. It was as if I were a ghost.

The golden ball dissipated in a flicker of green light and I heard his chuckle overhead.

"Glad to know it really works," the little prince said, smiling as he receded into the upper gardens.

I stood there for a bit, wondering what had happened before I realized he had done magic. Not the worst of tricks, but it was a good trick, nonetheless. As if he were preparing for some sort of bigger mischief.

"…odd." I shook my head and got back to work, watering my almond seedlings.

I was never to see the little prince again after that. And things went on their natural way.

We planted, pruned and harvested. I watched and learned and grew the almond trees as I grew along them, becoming a gardener like my father, and his father before. And I never told any of the little uneventful story concerning the little prince and the trick with the golden ball.

As time passed, I began to think I simply thought it up or it had been just some random nobleman's son in the palace rather than a real prince.

A few years later, I was in the city markets shopping for fruit and grain when a small hunting party came along, on their way to the Bifrost to get to the other realms. Searching for adventure, young nobles always did. And the city-dwellers did greet them with much fanfare as they came along the city streets.

"…_the young princes are off again…"_

"…_I suppose we should get used to that, they're not boys anymore…"_

"…_I heard Prince Thor brought down a full-grown bilgesnipe on his own!"_

The crowds thickened along the market street, even vendors getting up from their work to see. I hugged my basket to my chest as I sidestepped, trying to get out of the way, though walking on tiptoes as the sounds of clopping horseshoes neared.

A palace guard on horseback came first, people clearing out of the way. But he was just an escort.

Next came the young nobles still making their mark on the city as warriors, their great stallions galloping rather leisurely though still at a quick pace.

There was the elder warrior, Volstagg the Voluminous. Alongside him was a stern-looking Vanir (later to be known as Hogun the Grim of Vanaheim). Lord Fandral, always with his bright cloaks and fame amongst young ladies.

Speaing of young ladies, I could barely believe my eyes when I saw the Lady Sif, donned in feminine armour, riding beside Prince Thor, the golden son of Asgard.

And following right behind him…

"It is him…" I breathed.

I could not be mistaken. That was the same boy. I see so few faces and I rarely forget one.

"…_look there, the younger…"_

"…_ah, the silvertongue? Prince Loki sure is making quite a reputation."_

"_Ha. He's but an illusionist. Not a rivalling warrior to his brother."_

"_Some do battle, others just do tricks,"_

But the monikers were to grow more and more over the years. From his singular 'prince' to more darker tones from the ones already there. The mischief-maker became...

"…the Trickster."

By the time he and his brother were young men, he was known all over the realm as a manipulator. A puppeteer with quick fingers manoeuvring the strings of his deception. Though most of them were for the common good, there were tricks that often led to people hating him.

His alignment with Thor was one that kept him at least half to be trusted by people.

Then came the lies.

"…the Liar."

Even in my almond orchard, his infamy grew, using outright lies to his benefit rather than just the small tricks he had so often used to achieve little victories for small glories in adventures with the warriors. Still, he was basically neutral in people's eyes.

Perhaps they had gotten so used to his tricks that they wanted to ignore him altogether.

He didn't seem to like being reminded of that.

Often a servant found himself surrounded by snakes in the palace simply for laughing at a joke about him. I heard he'd done worse. Goodness knows how far he'd gone from simple illusion spells.

"…the King."

It was as ordinary a day as it could be. Nothing changed in the common people's lives. Even the news of Prince Thor's banishment did not affect the people directly. Sure, there was the scandal of his postponed coronation, but we woke up, broke our bread, worked and went to bed, as always. Having him banished to a realm of mortals doesn't affect a peasant, or a beggar.

Perhaps in the long run.

Then news struck of the All-Father's sudden Odin-sleep.

Having to exile his son must have broken him. Loki ascending to the throne stirred the realms as much as Thor's banishment or the Odins-sleep. But still, nothing changed to a commoner's everyday. Gossips and rumours often died out after a while.

"…the Lost."

Alas, nothing much stayed still for long. The new-crowned king just…disappeared. Just as the elder prince and the All-Father himself returned. Nothing was said, nothing was known. But whispers have wings and the air has ears. The Bifrost was broken and no one knew why.

They say Loki usurped the throne.

They say he was a bastard. Others still insist he was from another realm disguised as one of us.

No one really knows the truth. But the Elder Prince had never been the same.

"…the Traitor."

He was to return as a failed conqueror. Loki had tried to take Midgard, only to be confronted by his brother. People watched as he was brought to the palace. But of course, he was out of sight. They were much too careful after everything he had pulled off.

It seems that he always was turning for the darker.

Like white cloth dyed over and over until there was nothing but black.

He was sent into prison. To rot in the deepest dungeons.

I heard he showed no remorse.

"…the Stolen."

The Dark Elves came without warning. Many a death was mourned after they departed.

Asgard was exposed and under the threat of attack. For the first time in millennia, the Realm Eternal felt powerless towards an enemy.

Nearly a hundred or more were dead. Among them, the Queen.

I had stood at the edge of the lake, nearly all Asgardians were there to mourn the All-Mother. Her death boat was set on fire and disappeared into the heavens as a wisp of stars, followed by those who had fallen in battle. My one regret was that I never got to present any harvest, at all, to her...the greatest honor of a gardener is to do so.

Nothing felt the same the next day.

Another stir. A Svartal ship of the Dark Elves flew about the city, causing panic and the city's defense bolting into action, causing more damage about the palace and the city. One of the gardens has had an Asgardian patrol ship crash into it.

Heimdall the Gatekeeper, Lady Sif, the Warriors Three and Prince Thor himself had committed treason. They stole out a mortal prisoner and then another.

Loki had once more slipped out of Asgard. Everyone dreaded the havoc that was to ensue.

"…the Redeemed."

Everything had sort of…went still.

The treasons committed by Asgard's finest warriors were pardoned. The Dark elves were vanquished and the said Convergence of the realms caused no further damage.

But Thor renounced his birthright the following hours and left the Realm Eternal.

Where was Loki?

They say he died right there in Svartalfheim, saving Thor in the end.

Perhaps he did redeem himself.

* * *

So after all these names, the rumours, the tragedies and hate that have consumed Asgard, you are free to think of him as you will. But what do I think of all this? I'm just a gardener, after all.

Codswallop, in my opinion.

I reckon he's dead. But somehow, I suppose he's out there still in one way or another.

After all, he always had his eyes on the golden things. And he would not let go of something he thinks is _his._

He claims all of life to himself. I don't think he'd let go as easily as that. No, he sees all of reality as a blank book. And he plans on writing his name on every page of it.

That little lord is still in there. Looking for his golden plaything.

Perhaps he already found it.


End file.
